I had some people over for dinner tonight – had been a while. When I arrived home at the agreed time and, being German, not one minute early, half of the guests were already camping at my front door. What did I get a cell phone for, people? At the precise moment I opened the door to let the first half in, the second half of the guests arrived as well.
The best thing about the dinner was that the guests did the cooking. I went to the living room and played DJ while the action unfolded in the kitchen. My Venezuelan friends cooked arapas, their traditional dish, something they normally eat every morning, day and evening. I have been exposed to South American cuisine, empanadas, alfajores and rodizio, but arapas was news to me.
It turned out to be the hundred and second variation on corn flower goo cooked in a skillet. The finished product was so thick one could slice it in half and stuff it with omelette, salad, cheese and salty creme. I guess meat would have worked as well if we had had any. It was delicious.
After dessert and coffee, we remembered the pastries that were still in the fridge. Anyone who has lived in France knows the stupefying inadequacy of the word pastries to describe the sweet delights one can buy at the pâtisserie. Once you remember you have them, you will eat them, no matter how full you are already. We were enjoying ourselves royally. To top it off, I even got the chance to break open my bottle of Herradura Añejo that I had been looking forward to sharing for a long time.
A little correction: The arapas are actually called arepas.
No comments:
Post a Comment